Playing the Game
by Amy Raine
Summary: In the end, he and Aang are both pawns. All Gyatso can do is make the best moves he can.


The home is small and on a middle tier, far below the palace towers but still high enough to offer a breathtaking view of the Kolau Moutains beyond the wall. Inside there are two rooms, an eating/living space and a simple bedroom. A Pai Sho board is in one corner of the main room; two men sit at it, arranging their tiles in front of them.

Gyatso lays the first tile down on the grid and regards his friend with a placid expression. Xin stares at the board, scratching the stubble on his chin. Then he puts his own tile down. The monk recognizes the gambit—a clever one, but one he has seen many times before—and knows he can beat his friend in seventeen moves. Now it is only a matter of watching it play out.

A sound from outside makes him turn to peer out the window. In the carefully tended garden below, a young boy with unruly spiked hair whispers to another, whose head is as smooth as Gyatso's own, though missing the blue arrow and the age spots. They take off, bolting through the gate and disappearing around a corner.

Xin follows Gyatso's gaze, catches a glimpse of the children's retreating forms, and his face creases in an emotion that is neither anger nor amusement but has something of both. "That boy," he huffs, "is nothing but trouble." He places another tile. "He'll be king of this place someday."

"You think so?" the Air Nomad asks as he takes his turn, showing polite interest because Xin has been a friend for many years. It sometimes surprises him to realize how many years. Honestly, Gyatso could care less about the politics of the many vassal states of the Earth Kingdom, but upon further reflection he supposes it's a good thing for his pupil to befriend a future ruler. Considering.

"Bumi has already mastered earthbending, and has begun inventing his own techniques." There is a hint of pride in Xin's voice. "He'll surely beat all the challengers for the throne."

The monk wrinkles his nose with a bemused smile; causing his moustache to twitch—his only vanity. "I never understood how bending prowess makes one a good ruler."

His friend shrugs. His bald pate shines in the afternoon sunlight, hairless not from shaving but from age. "Works for us. Your move."

Gyatso picks up his next tile but pauses before placing it on the board. "Aang is also a master—well, he will be recognized as one when we return to the temple and he goes through the ceremony." He sets the tile down on the grid.

"Pah." Xin has finally begun to catch on to Gyatso's strategy, but in his typical stone-headed way he refuses to forfeit. "Don't understand why you have to mark yourselves all up."

The monk does not answer this. Instead he says, "He will need an earthbending teacher, eventually."

Xin's hand had just started for his next tile; it sags, falls to the table. "How long have you known?"

"Since he was four."

"But he does not know."

Gyatso frowns. "Of course not."

"It will be many years before he is ready for earthbending." Xin holds his gaze with steady, sand-colored eyes. He was not always a mountain man.

The airbender sighs, shifts his weight and rubs his neck. His old bones don't take to sitting in one position for long periods as well as they used to. "Not so many. The council wants to tell him on his birthday coming up."

"When's that?"

"In a few months, on the equinox."

His friend's face is granite. "Why? Why would they break with tradition?"

When Gyatso replies, his voice takes on an ominous timbre. "Sozin moves."

Xin stands abruptly, game momentarily forgotten. "Tea?" He does not wait for the monk to respond, instead moving to his small stove and lifting the kettle that has been simmering since the two Air Nomads arrived. He pours pale amber liquid into two tiny porcelain cups and hands one to Gyatso. The warmth is a comfort to the monk's arthritic hands, and the smell of jasmine, rare in this part of the Earth Kingdom, fills his nose.

"You're fools," Xin pronounces as he sits back down and lifts his own cup to his lips. "Avatars are not informed of their status before the age of sixteen for a reason. He will not take it well."

His old friend is not a seer, but never is he wrong when it counts. Gyatso sighs into his tea. This is all out of his hands. Has been since a tiny laughing boy knelt in a room full of toys and made his heart sink in his chest.

"The hundred year comet is due to arrive in a few months," he says. "If anything should happen..."

"Gyatso, don't," Xin says, his voice lacking its usual strength.

"It is supposed to come during our New Year festival," the monk presses on. "We will all be at the temples."

"Does it need to be said? Of course the organization will take care of the boy." Xin slaps another tile down as if to end the discussion.

The promise is a double edged sword. The White Lotus has its own agenda, and what they think is best would not necessarily be what Gyatso wants for his pupil. But if they can keep Aang safe...

At that moment two dusty children with shining eyes and smiles bigger than their faces barge in, wanting what boys of that age always want, food and attention. Gyatso grins, enjoys the moment. The moment is all there is.


End file.
